The moment the white tower fell, the crimson one flared brighter, as if enraged by its sibling's death. The air burned, thick with a heat that wasn't heat—it was fury, pure and raw, searing straight into their blood.
Kaelen's heart slammed against his ribs. His vision swam red, his hands trembling with an urge to strike at anything, anyone. Even Lyra's breath beside him scraped across his nerves like a blade.
Lyra faltered too. Her eyes burned, her jaw clenched. She spun on Kaelen, blade half-raised, as if she couldn't tell friend from foe.
The candle-bearer gasped, clutching the flame as it guttered under the onslaught of rage. "It's inside us—it wants to make us kill each other!"
Kaelen ground his teeth, forcing himself to think, to remember. He locked eyes with Lyra, who shook with fury. "Fight me if you want," he growled, voice harsh, "but not here. Not like this."
Her blade trembled. Her lips peeled back in a snarl. Then—slowly—she slammed the sword into the tiles beside her, the crack echoing like a scream. "I'll gut that tower instead."
Together, they turned on the crimson monolith. It pulsed again, sending another wave of rage across the battlefield. Their bodies shook, every instinct demanding violence, but they forced their fury into focus, driving it outward.
The relic burned hot in Kaelen's hand, fire wrapping his arm to the shoulder. Lyra sprinted forward, her blade trailing sparks. The candle-bearer stumbled but lifted the flame, their voice rising in a hoarse chant that bent the rage just enough for the others to breathe.
The tower split open, a wound in the void, and from within came shapes—red silhouettes, twisted versions of themselves, snarling with bloodlust. A dozen Kaelens. A dozen Lyras. All eyes glowing crimson, all blades raised.
Kaelen's stomach dropped. "It's making us fight ourselves."
The doppelgängers charged.
Kaelen's fire met his double's blade in a spray of sparks. Lyra's sword clashed against her crimson twin, steel ringing on steel. The candle-bearer's flame sputtered under the assault of their own shadow, which clawed and hissed with wild hunger.
The real Lyra roared, slicing her twin clean in two, the halves dissolving into red ash. She spat blood and spun, carving a path through two more. "They're weaker than us! Hit harder!"
Kaelen bellowed, driving his flaming fist into his double's chest. The crimson form shattered, scattering embers.
Together, they cut down the false selves, until only the tower remained, pulsing in fury. Kaelen and Lyra struck in unison—blade and flame plunging into its heart.
The crimson tower shrieked, its surface splitting into molten cracks. The rage burned hotter, almost unbearable—until suddenly, it broke.
The tower exploded in a storm of red shards, the fury evaporating like steam. Kaelen fell to one knee, gasping as the rage drained from his veins, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
Lyra dropped beside him, sweat streaking her face. The candle-bearer collapsed, barely holding the flame, but still alive.
Three towers down.
The board shook violently. The black tower loomed, its shadow stretching like claws across the battlefield. Above, the eye burned brighter than ever.
"One remains," it intoned, voice trembling with both fury and hunger. "The void claims what you cannot protect."